Anything for You
by Woman of Rohan
Summary: On Marlowe's birthday, Talbot runs into trouble on his way home from picking out a gift.


**More Talbot and Marlowe! For my Del. I love writing about them. I regret nothing.**

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><p><strong>Anything For You<strong>

A lady's birthday was never to be forgotten, lest great consequences could occur. Or at least that's how Talbot felt as he casually strolled down the bustling London streets after making a special trip to the jeweler's.

Clad in a crisp white dress shirt and a blue sweater vest, Talbot had managed to escape all responsibility for a few precious hours in order to procure a gift for Marlowe. Although she kept her birth date under-wraps and few were privy to the information, Talbot always made sure to remember, even if she didn't make a fuss about it herself. Deep down, he knew that she appreciated his efforts.

Marlowe had a treasure trove of rare artifacts, priceless works of art, and essentially anything she desired at her fingertips, so Talbot took great consideration in selecting something befitting. It had taken him quite a while to decide upon an item to purchase for her. She wasn't one to be wooed by cards or flowery, empty sentiments, and he didn't blame her. Desensitized to most lavish gifts, Marlowe desired things with meaning, things with worth. And so Talbot had chosen something one-of-a-kind. He only hoped it was worthy.

With his prize safely stowed away in his pocket, Talbot made his way towards the nearest station to make the return trip home. With a casual glance at his wristwatch, he couldn't help but grin at the time he'd made. He might even arrive back at the manor before Marlowe returned from business. All in all, a successful outing. Marlowe would never even know he'd been gone...

Arriving at the Underground, Talbot swiped his card at the gate and then took the escalator down to the platform. It was a strange feeling, to be milling about in the general public. He typically had a company car at his disposal, but today the Tube would have to do. After all, he wasn't even supposed to be gone.

The Underground was old, dating back to the 19th century, and it showed in this particular station. The aged brickwork, the dingy atmosphere, and the classic architecture... it even smelled a bit musty.

With his hands in his pockets, he happened to arrive as the next train was pulling in. It came to a screeching halt as the doors opened, and he shuffled in along with a couple of other passengers. Talbot made his way through the throng of people until he found an empty seat near the back of the car. As he got situated, he resisted the urge to remove Marlowe's gift from the pocket of his slacks, as it was poking him a bit, but something so priceless would surely attract a fair amount of the wrong kind of attention.

But as the train rumbled against the tracks beneath him as it whined to a start again, attention seemed to find him, anyway.

From his seat, Talbot felt the uncomfortable sensation of glances being thrown in his direction. Two men, one wearing a hat and the other a leather jacket, had looked his way before exchanging hushed words with each other. He shifted a bit in his seat, wondering if perhaps he was being paranoid and unnecessarily jumpy, but as he turned his head slightly in their direction, his fears were confirmed. They were _definitely _looking his way.

As the man in the leather shifted , adjusting his grip on the bar from his standing position, Talbot caught the glint of metal as his jacket billowed open for a split second. Unmistakably, it was a pistol.

He made eye contact only briefly before refocusing his attention elsewhere. Talbot's mind seemed to be racing just as quickly as the train, as the brick walls whizzed by through the window. How they knew his face, he wasn't sure. Their organization had ties with a great deal of people, from petty thugs to powerful entrepreneurs, so they could have remembered him from anywhere. Talbot wouldn't trick himself into believing that it wasn't personal. In situations such as this, it always was.

Unfortunately, he had no choice but to remain calm and seated until the train arrived at a reasonable destination. From there, he'd be able to form a further plan of action. Talbot waited a couple of stops, so as not to act suspicious, before exiting the train. Unsurprisingly, the men followed. He was several stops from his destination, but he felt claustrophobic and trapped, like a caged animal. The open air of the station's tunnels was definitely preferable.

Once into the main tunnel, Talbot casually paced through the crowd, occasionally throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. As he caught one of the men nearing out of his peripheral vision, he quickened his pace with long, steady, strides... hoping to put enough distance between them or simply get lost amongst the crowd. Talbot wasn't egotistical enough to stand and pick a fight. If he could escape easily and avoid a skirmish, then it was no pride lost to him.

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears , causing the chatter and background noise of the Underground to feel drowned out and echoed. He turned the nearest corner as the crowd dispersed, pulling out his cell phone to make a quick call for back-up.

"Harris, I'm being followed. Bring a transport immediately," he hissed as he kept on moving. "I've activated the GPS in my phone. You'll know where to find me."

He briefly wondered if he should mention to his cohort not to inform Marlowe, but he figured that Harris would have more sense than to tell her. The abrupt call was ended as Talbot moved to pocket his phone. In doing so, he heard the box containing Marlowe's gift drop out of his pocket and fall to the ground. Heels grinding against the ground to halt him, he took a few steps backward to reclaim the precious item. Unfortunately, the time it took for him to clutch it once again was enough for his pursuers to close in on him, and he heard their footsteps approaching. Setting off at a brisk pace once again, Talbot ran down the nearest hallway, only to feel dread sink into the pit of his stomach at the sight before him.

"_Shit_."

He was standing in an abandoned area, leading into a dead-end which appeared to be a maintenance hallway filled with trash bins and abandoned equipment. Talbot nearly laughed at his misfortune. Of course he'd run into a dead end and get himself trapped.

Turning quickly, he paced backwards and watched as the men approached. Talbot stood his ground, his eyes darting between the three of them: the leader, clad in a leather jacket, another wearing a fedora and a third hulking figure that he hadn't seen previously. They formed a ring around him, like sharks circling their prey.

"What do you want?" Talbot asked, voice cool and eyes narrowed.

"Just a bit of revenge," the man in the jacket said. "Recognized your ugly mug the moment I saw ya get on the train."

Though he knew that the men intended to offend him with their petty insults, he was far above such things. "How very convenient."

"You're in cahoots with Marlowe, yeah? Well, we've a bone or two to pick with the bitch."

Talbot's brow furrowed into a dangerous glare. At the mention of Katherine, his anger got the best of him, and while he should have either remained silent or denied any association with her, the words slipped before he could contain them.

"You've no right to speak of her in such a manner."

"Your response don't surprise me," the thug laughed. "Heard you're 'er favorite little chew toy. Be a damn shame if ya went missin'... ain't that right, boys?"

"You can try," Talbot said. "But I highly advise against it."

The other two thugs merely grinned as they closed in, and one of them grabbed Talbot from behind, locking his elbows together. As the man in the fedora approached from the front, Talbot kicked his legs up and managed to deliver a blow to the man's midsection, meanwhile butting his head backwards against his captor. The back of his skull connected harshly with the man's nose, sending him reeling as Talbot broke free.

It bought him just enough time to duck away and pull his own knife from the sheath concealed beneath his pant leg, where he stood with the weapon held at arm's length, ready to take them on. The bulky man who had grabbed him was now sporting a bloody nose.

Talbot had a few precious seconds to plan his next move before the fedora-wearer recovered swiftly and aimed a punch at his midsection, which Talbot dodged. He retaliated with a swipe from his knife, and managed to slash through his forearm, leaving a nice gash as the man cursed lividly.

His victory was short-lived as bloody-nose recovered and delivered a blow to his cheekbone. Talbot took a few steps backwards, shaking his head and regaining his footing before catching the man off guard as he lunged forward and propelled the weight of his body into him. He may not have been as brawny, but he did have a fair knowledge of pressure points. Talbot swung at the thug's throat, and he went down hard, clutching his neck and unable to properly breathe. Once on his knees, Talbot then delivered a right-hook to his face, rendering him unconscious. He was about to strike him again, just to play it safe, but his palm never connected.

Focusing him with a dangerous glare, the pack leader had caught Talbot by the wrist. He struggled, but it was to no avail as the man's fist connected with the side of his mouth. Before the pain could even register, two more blows were landed into his ribcage, causing him to drop his knife. Momentarily disoriented, Talbot doubled over as he clutched at his waist and coughed. A clumsy move, and he knew it. He hissed as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting a metallic warmth as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and left a bright red stain.

The thugs took advantage of his prone position, and he felt as the hair at the back of his head was gripped harshly, jerking his head backwards as another hand came to clutch the back of his shirt. Talbot wasn't sure which one of the men had grabbed him, and he didn't have much time to consider it before his body was rammed forward, with his head smashing into the edge of the metal trash bin. Talbot's vision blurred, almost a total-black out as he stumbled and attempted to keep his balance.

"Gotta admit," the pack leader chuckled from behind him. "You've got some fight in you for a scrawny l'ttle guard dog."

Talbot's arm reached out to steady himself against the edge of the bin, but he found himself missing and falling to the ground. Through the haze, he could hear the two men laughing as they spun into focus. An instinctive hand came to his forehead, where he felt the stickiness of blood at the base of his hairline. From his spot on the ground, he caught something glistening in the pack leader's jacket as he approached. Initially he thought that it might have been the light playing tricks on him in his dizzied state, but then he remembered what he'd seen on the train ride earlier...

_The pistol._

If he could get close enough to snatch it, there was definitely a possibility of tipping the odds in his favor. He didn't even wish to consider the alternative.

"Is that all you've got, gentlemen?" Talbot managed a weak chuckle, standing upright again and swaying dangerously. "You're going to have to do better than that, I'm afraid."

"My pleasure." The words had barely been uttered when the jacketed leader stepped in to pluck Talbot's knife from the ground. He advanced with a wicked grin, effortlessly grabbing Talbot by his sweater vest and pushing him back against the wall, with his face mere centimeters from his own. "Is this 'better' enough for ya?"

The knife was driven into Talbot's left arm as he released a strained cry. He felt nauseous as the man yanked it out and he fought for consciousness through the agonizing pain.

Still, it was the price he paid for the upper hand. It provided the opportunity he needed, a split second of distraction as he subtly reached into the thug's leather jacket and palmed his handgun... a sleight of hand movement that he had perfected in his teen years. Funny how such things could come in handy years down the road...

Before any further damage could be done, he clicked the safety off and pressed the barrel against the man's midsection, managing a smirk through the pain wracking through him and the blood dripping down his arm.

"Missing something?" Talbot asked through gritted teeth.

The man's face registered shock as he attempted to take a step back, but Talbot pressed the barrel of the gun harder into his stomach.

"You wouldn't dare," the man growled, eyes widening.

"I wouldn't be so certain of that. "

Without hesitation, Talbot fired downwards and landed a bullet into the man's leg at point-blank range, causing him to yell in pain and clutch at the wound as he toppled to the ground.

"You bastard! Aggh!"

"Now, I want both of you to walk away," Talbot said firmly, still aiming his gun at his fallen figure, but directing his gaze to the slack-jawed thug that remained standing a few feet away. "Unless you prefer another bullet through your head."

"You're crazy!" The pack leader was seething, but with the help of his partner managed to get upright again as they stumbled off. Talbot kept his gun trained on their retreating forms as he watched them go.

Clamping his hand over the rapidly bleeding wound in his arm, Talbot cursed and collapsed back against the wall as he surveyed the area. Blood was dripping down his sleeve, and he watched morbidly as a few drops spattered onto the floor. He couldn't possibly walk through the Underground in such a state, unless he expected to attract attention. Firing a gun in a public place was already asking for enough trouble... and he had no doubt that someone would have heard it. He'd need to vacate the area as soon as possible, and also ditch the weapon.

Crumbled in the corner was the third thug, still unconscious, and Talbot stumbled over to him and placed the gun within his clutches. A convenient set-up, if anyone managed to find him. His eyes scanned the hallway and he noticed a small corridor off to his left. Peering down it, he saw an emergency exit leading out into the main street via a flight of stairs.

As he elbowed the door with his good arm, no alarm sounded, so he took that as a good sign. He would be gone faster than anyone could reach the scene, anyhow.

His blue eyes adjusted to the sunlight as he glanced around to take in the scenery of the busy London intersection. He saw a sleek, black car approaching and pull up to the curb. A few people seemed startled by the sight of him, but he paid them no mind. Walking up to the vehicle, Talbot opened the back door and slid in, leaning back against the cushioned seat.

"Back to the estate, Harris," Talbot said. He rubbed at his temples. He had a ridiculous headache. "But stop elsewhere first... I need to clean up before Marlowe returns."

"Is that so?"

Talbot's heart sank as the voice that sounded from the front seat was far from Harris' masculine tone. Instead, it was feminine and all-too-familiar.

_Marlowe._

As if his day couldn't get any worse. Harris had ditched him... and had apparently allowed Marlowe to pick him up. God damn that man. Because of him, everything was ruined...

Talbot remained stunned into silence as he clutched at his arm and tried to conceal his injury from her sight. He knew it was useless. In the rearview mirror, he could see Marlowe's green eyes fixed upon his bloodied state.

"What the _hell _happened to you? Harris said you were in trouble, but I didn't expect that you'd need me to pluck you out of the gutter."

"I was ambushed," Talbot stated quietly. He could tell from the tone of her voice alone that Marlowe was upset... and not just mildly so.

"No shit," she spat. "Do we need to send clean-up?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm sure the authorities will be more than enough."

"Then you were lucky. Really, this isn't at all how I expected to spend my afternoon."

"Marlowe, if you'll allow me to explain-"

"What is there to explain?" she snapped. As Marlowe continued, Talbot noticed that her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the steering wheel. "You obviously withheld information from me to do god-knows-what and get yourself into this mess. I swear to God, Talbot... sometimes I wish you'd just think with that thick skull of yours. Do you realize how put-out I'd be if you got yourself killed? At least one of us cares about your well-being."

Her backlash stung, and Talbot winced from more than just his wound. In fact, her words seemed to hurt far worse. Without another word, Marlowe sped off, ignoring at least three traffic regulations as they raced back towards the estate. She hit a few sharp turns on her way out of the city as Talbot squirmed in the back of the car, his fingertips clutching at the seat. The bumpy ride wasn't necessarily kind to his battered body, and he was being jostled around more than he would have liked.

The remainder of the drive passed in uncomfortable silence. Talbot could have attempted to explain again, but he knew better. Marlowe needed time to cool off before another attempt could be made, and so he sat in utter silence as he stared out the window, still grasping at his arm. At least the bleeding had lessened, though he regretted to admit that some of his blood had now stained the previously pristine carseat. He got the distinctive feeling that he'd be cleaning that up later.

The colorless streets of London soon transformed into the countryside, where Marlowe's manor was surrounded by the lushness of green grass and trees. The iron gates adorning the front of the estate opened, allowing them entry as Marlowe drove along the circular driveway, accented by a fountain in the middle of the parkway. As she pulled up to the front of the mansion, a guard was standing by, ready to take the keys from Marlowe as she handed them to him so that he could park the vehicle.

Talbot stepped out of the car and took a few unsteady strides. His body was aching, but he attempted not to let it show as Marlowe paced ahead of him towards the front door. He ultimately failed at masking his pain when he stumbled, releasing a gasp as he alerted her attention. Marlowe turned abruptly, her features softening ever so slightly as she looked him over.

"Oh for God's sake," she sighed. "Come on."

With an arm wrapped around his waist, she functioned as support as she aided him into the house. Several guards stopped to stare as they passed through the foyer and up the staircase leading to the upper level. Harris happened to be one of them, and he refused to make eye contact with Talbot as he stared him down. If it weren't for Marlowe beside him, Talbot would have punched him in the jaw.

She led him into her chambers, across the room and into her lavish bathroom. It was neatly furnished, complete with sitting chairs, a double-sink, a vanity, exotic plants and even her own jacuzzi. The warm lighting was comforting and easy on the eyes. Talbot was thankful for that, as his head was still pounding furiously.

Stepping farther into the room, Talbot watched as some of his blood dripped onto the sparkling marble floor. He instinctively bent to wipe it up, but Marlowe delivered a warning slap to his bum as he immediately righted himself.

"What are you doing? Sit down and stop moving."

Talbot retreated to the nearest chair and clamped his palm over his arm with a deep frown etched into his features.

"Don't give me that look. Take your shirt off."

"Marlowe-"

"Just do it."

With a weary sigh, Talbot pulled off his sweater and then proceeded to unbutton his ruined dress shirt. The sleeve stuck to his skin a bit where the blood had begun to dry as he gently slipped his injured arm out of it. Once he was shirtless, he looked at his arm and felt ill. There was a definitive gash between his shoulder and elbow, where the knife had been stuck into his bicep. It was deeper than he'd estimated. _Wonderful_.

He watched as Marlowe gathered some supplies from the medicine cabinet. She then moved to the sink and ran the faucet. Regarding his reflection in the mirror, Talbot could see the first hints of bruising appearing along his ribcage, and the hollow of his cheek was already more colorful than was typical.

"You really look like hell," Marlowe said, seeming to voice what he was thinking. She came to stand beside him with a damp cloth in her hand. Leaning in close to brush a few errant strands of hair out of his eyes, which were matted with blood, she proceeded to dab lightly at his forehead for a moment or two. "Here, hold that."

Talbot took the cloth and held it at the base of his hairline while she moved to look at his arm. She put her glasses on and gently grasped his elbow, maneuvering so that she could have a better look. Her lips were pursed as she did a cursory examination of the wound.

"You're going to need stitches," she said, shaking her head and making a disapproving clicking noise with her tongue. "This looks dreadful."

"That won't be necessary," Talbot said, but then groaned as she prodded at the wound. "_Owww_, bollocks!"

He instinctively pulled his arm away as Marlowe glared at him through her glasses.

"_Hold still!_" she demanded. "You don't know how to _listen_."

With a firmer hold on him, she cleared away some of the blood dripping down his arm with another damp cloth. Though it was incredibly painful when she dabbed at the wound itself, he sat stoically and didn't utter a sound.

"In any case, I hope this is a lesson to you. How you manage to find yourself in these situations, I can't even begin to guess... especially without backup and unarmed of all things...but I suppose I should be used to it by now."

Getting ambushed in the Underground and then having to defend himself through a harsh beating was something he'd never quite get used to.

"I wasn't completely unarmed," he stated, and pulled the cloth away from his forehead to see how it had stained red. "I had a knife."

Marlowe merely laughed at him... a cold, humorless, laugh that made him feel small and insignificant.

"Oh Talbot, you fool. Sometimes I think you haven't changed a bit since the day I took you in."

Little did she know, sometimes he certainly felt that way.

Talbot sat in silence as she continued to clean him up, and he watched while Marlowe wrapped a thick layer of bandages around his arm. She smoothed them over with a gentleness that was rather uncharacteristic of her.

"That should hold until the doctor arrives," she said. "I'll have Knox paged immediately."

She moved over to the sink in order to wash her hands and in the mirror, Talbot noticed that her poised stance had deflated slightly. It was a subtle thing, hard to catch for most people, but years spent together had allowed him to observe a few of her tells. This was one of them, and a clear sign that she was upset. With a shrug and the wince that followed, Talbot saw no other choice but to voice a sincere apology.

"Marlowe," he breathed. "I'm sorry."

"It's just not quite the birthday I expected." She leaned against the counter with a faint and insincere smile as she took her glasses off and set them down.

"Me neither."

Talbot stood and reached into his pocket to produce the box containing Marlowe's birthday gift. He could have waited, but he had a gut feeling to present it to her now. Whether it was a good idea, or a very bad one... he wasn't sure, but there was no turning back.

Her green eyes searched his blue ones as she turned to face him. Hands upon her hips, Marlowe looked about ready to scold him again, but paused when she saw that Talbot was holding the small box within his bloodstained hands.

"What is this?"

"I expected to give this to you under different circumstances."

Marlowe took the box, allowing her fingers to brush over its velvet casing before she opened the hinge. As her eyebrows rose, she glanced over the beautiful, glistening, earrings. When she was silent, Talbot began rambling.

"They're Tahitian black pearls... I had them imported," he said, scratching at the back of his head. "They're one-of-a-kind..."

...and quite priceless, just like her. Other people might have seen her reaction as anticlimactic but the look in her eyes was more than enough for him.

"I thought you'd forgotten."

"A lady's birthday should _never _be forgotten."

"Well," she said, as the corners of her lips curled into a more genuine smile. "I hope it was worth it. You might be a fool, but you're a very thoughtful fool."

She took his hand and tugged him close so that she could plant a kiss upon his bloodied lips. Talbot couldn't help but smirk when she pulled away, and she shook her head and chuckled at his reaction.

"Come on, let's go fetch the doctor before you lose any more blood. I think that's more than enough excitement for one day. Unless, of course, you're feeling better later...but one step at a time."

Marlowe winked at him, and Talbot felt his face go hot. With her palm upon the small of his back, she led him out of the bathroom and aided him across the hall and towards his own chambers where he could rest until Dr. Knox arrived.

Despite the limp in his step, the bloodstains on his skin, and the pain that radiated through what seemed like every inch of his body... there was no doubt in his mind that Marlowe was worth it. Every penny, every punch... _everything_.

In fact, he just might be feeling better already.


End file.
